Everybody Has An Evil Twin
by musicnotes093
Summary: Tim has been kidnapped! By who? By the evil team of SICN, of course. But why does everyone look familiar?


**Title:** _Everybody (Has An Evil Twin)_

**Rating:** FR15

**Genre:** crack!fic, humor

**Pairings:** none, I think

**Summary:** Tim has been kidnapped! By who? By the evil team of SICN, of course. But why does everyone look familiar?

**Notes:** Because we've all thought about that theory once or twice. Some bits and pieces of violence. Inspired by an episode of Disney's _Good Luck Charlie_.

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><p>Even through the darkness of the blindfold, Tim could see white spots in front of his eyes as he came to. He opened his mouth to speak, but the duct tape plastered on it stunted the act. The stiff muscles on his shoulder blades and his intertwined forearms behind the chair told him that an attempt to use his hands to remove those would be futile.<p>

"So you're awake," said a voice that almost made him jump. It was the same voice as his. Surely, he didn't just talk to himself?

Tim felt fingers pull the blindfold down. He shut his eyes tighter as lights pierced through. Then, when he became accustomed to it, he pried his eyelids open. Looking around, he saw that he was inside a room that resembled the bullpen. There were also the same letters up on the far wall, _S-I-C-N_, but they were the mirror of the ones he was familiar with.

And in front of him was someone who looked exactly like him, but also different. He had those conniving green eyes, a smirk on his lips, dark hair, an Armani sports coat. . .he was nothing but evil.

"Oh, where are my manners?" the man said. "You can't talk with that tape on your mouth, can you?" He smiled, and then ripped the duct tape off Tim.

Tim grunted. As much as he wanted to scream, feeling that the other did nothing but tear his lips off, he couldn't. Gibbs trained him to be stronger than that.

"Better?" the man asked. "Timothy?"

"Who are you?" Tim asked, masquerading his perplexity with contempt .

"Tom," he answered. "Short for Tommy McGee." He walked around his captive, watching him. "I'm your twin brother."

Tim swiveled his head towards Tom, his eyebrows creased. Tommy McGee? Twin brother? As far as he knew, he was the only son of his parents. "You're lying," were the only words he managed to utter.

Tom chuckled. "I don't know how hard Arty hit your head, but I'm sure it's not so much that you became blind," he said. "I look exactly like you, Tim. What else doesn't scream brother to you?"

"Mom would have told me—"

"Mom wouldn't tell you anything," Tom countered. He looked away as his mind went through a series of flashbacks. "They said I was a weakling. They said you were the better son, so they gave me away. Growing up I strived to be better than you were. I've been the top student ever since kindergarten. I went to Harvard for college, for crying out loud! But that didn't matter to them. You were still the favorite. Still proud of you because you were an officer of the law. In their eyes you're still stronger! But look at us now. You're the one tied to the chair, and I'm the one free. Who's the weakling now?" he turned to Tim.

Tim only frowned at him.

Tom sighed, heaving to calm himself down. He massaged his temples with his quivering fingers. "You. You would be the gateway to the fulfillment of our plans," he continued.

"Our?" Tim asked. "You mean there are others?"

"Oh, he's awake!"

"Ziva?" Tim saw the woman bearing a plate of freshly baked cookies peer behind Tom. Save for neat ponytail, the frilly pink top, and the make-up, she appeared to be the Mossad assassin he had been working with for years.

She giggled as she walked closer to him. "Silly goose! I am not my sister. My name is Zara," she said, an amiable smile on her face. She placed the plate down on a nearby table, then pinched Tim's cheeks. "You are so cute!"

Tim pulled his face away from Zara's grasp. He was being more and more confused by the minute. He opened his mouth to comment when two other people joined them. Another man, who was almost the same height as Tom and was sporting thin-rimmed glasses, and a blonde woman, who wore a crisp black jacket over a white blouse and a pencil skirt, stood beside his twin brother.

He stared at everyone of them. They were making his head hurt.

"Blunt force trauma causing troublesome intracranial pressure, Timothy?" the man asked, a hint of concern in his voice. Tim looked up. He smiled. "I had orders to strike you with the frying pan."

"No need to justify yourself, Arty," the woman said, her nose upturned. "You have the right to withhold information."

"Let me guess," Tim said. "You're not Tony," he glanced at the man.

"No," Arty laughed. "Not Anthony. My legal name is Arturo Ricardo Teodoro Hernan Udolfo Renaldo DiNozzo," he said.

"You have an illegal name?" Tim inquired sarcastically.

"Indeed. Arthur," he answered pragmatically. "But I respond to Arty as well when I'm out in the field, being a torture specialist."

Tim swallowed. Torture specialist? Instead of dwelling on the images flashing in his brain, he swiveled his head next to the woman's direction. "You're definitely not Abby," he said.

"How dare you mistake me as my imbecilic sister," she indignantly narrowed her eyes at him. "That childish woman. Making a mockery of my line of work as a lawyer."

"Annie," Zara warned, obviously bothered by her colleague's hostility to their guest. "She's. . .she's just not having a good day," she told their captive.

Tim shook his head, hoping that the scene before him would go away. Bad idea. It only made things tilt and double. The nerves inside his skull were beating madly that he thought he would have an aneurism for the next minute.

What was happening?

"Where am I, and what do you want?" he asked wearily.

"You're at Cuarto de Toro," Zara answered with glee.

"At SICN," Tom crossed his arms.

"SICN?"

"Superciliously Intelligent Criminals of the Nation," Arty replied, gazing proudly at the steel acronym stuck on the wall. "It's quite a humble title."

"And all of you work for this—" Tim's eyes swept the whole room, "agency?"

"What do you think?" Tom sardonically asked.

"Except me," Zara raised her index finger up.

"You work for Mossad," Tim guessed. "A rogue liaison officer."

Zara giggled. "You are a funny guy, Tim," she said. "I'm an arms dealer. I work for Al Qaeda."

Tim winced as Zara winked at him. He found the revelations hard to swallow, especially what with each of his teammates and himself having twin siblings that were torture specialist, lawyer, an arms dealer, and. . . whatever Tom was. If Tony, Abby, and Ziva had cruel opposites, he shuddered to think how Gibbs'—

"I have informed all of you your tasks, yet you incompetents are wasting your times chatting with the enemy!"

Terror, although vague, spread across the faces of the people in front of Tim as an imperious voice yelled from behind them. Arty and Annie, then Tom and Zara parted to make way for their chief.

Tim attempted to smother the gasp that attempted to rise in his throat when he saw his boss' brother glowering at his agents. He wore camouflage pants and a blue shirt that spelled _S-I-N_ (which, he thought, was the parallel of the print in one of Gibbs' shirts). A lit Cuban cigar was on the edge of his mouth, and an eye patch covered his right eye.

"I didn't serve as a green beret in Vietnam then get shot in the eye just to be a babysitter for a bunch of no-good idiots!" he scolded.

"W-we," Arty began, "we only spoke to him, Director Gibbs, as he was waking up. I thought it would be helpful for later, when we will obtain information from him, that his mind would be working and—"

Tim saw the older man lift up a hand quickly. He anticipated a head slap for Arty—

But he witnessed as the Director backhanded the agent in front of everyone.

A muffled crack emanated from Arty's neck as his head was forced to turn. He immediately swiveled his head back, although his glasses had flown away from his eyes, then broke as it fell on the floor.

"You do not answer me in that tone, son!" Gibbs said. "How many times do I have to tell all of you that no one should speak in my presence? Unless any of you are a director or a leader of any group, then you keep your mouths shut! Do all of you understand that? Or do I have to spell it out to you, you dumb—"

"Why don't you stop yelling and start acting?" Tim intervened. He wished he could take back what he said when the SICN Director turn to him. However, his mouth remained unbridled as his eyes saw the expressions on the others' faces. "You're nothing like Gibbs."

Gibbs' lips curled into a sly smile. Slowly, he walked towards Tim. He drew closer to him until their faces were only a hand span apart. "But, son," he said. "I am Gibbs."

He backed away, laughing quietly as he paced in front of him. "You are one of Leroy Jethro's little poodles, am I right? You are the hacker in the group. The author? Can I be honest? I really find your book worthless. Reading deeply through it, I find your voice a little whiny and like a little girl's." He scoffed. "Tommy and Lisa? What a trip. You're fooling yourself and, well, you're wasting ink and paper. But I guess that's your inner evil. Killing off trees just to satisfy your whims."

Tim mustered his strength not to counter. He knew better than to go against a cold person like the man in front of him.

"But Leroy Jethro is too kind to tell you that, I'm sure," Gibbs continued. "That's why all of you are weaklings. He tryin' to make all of you believe in family and honor. What a sissy. But me? Even if I walk amongst these indolent people, I trained them to be heartless. That's what makes them great."

"That's what made them chatty earlier, too," Tim finally spoke back. "They learned from the best."

Gibbs backhanded Tim. The latter felt his jaws loosen, but he didn't mind it much. The anger in the other's eyes was enough to relieve his pain and make him smile.

"If you're planning to talk me to death, you win. Congratulations," Tim said.

Gibbs clenched his jaws. He breathed deeply to soothe his compulsive nerves. "I'm touched that you think I'd be soft as my brother, but I am not," he said. "We were planning to accomplish a grander goal than that. You see, the terrorists are having a hard time finding information about governments of different nations. As our task, we need to find a way to provide it for them. But our infiltration system doesn't seem to work anymore. We then thought that maybe, we can access it if we had someone inside the government to work for us."

"Forget it," Tim spat. "I'm not going to do it for you."

Gibbs laughed mockingly. Behind him, the others also sniggered. "Oh, you aren't, son," he said.

Tim frowned. He knew on their stares that they were thinking of doing something to him. No matter. He still had a last trick he could pull.

Zara picked up the cookies from the table, and then drew near to Tim. "Cookies?" she smiled.

* * *

><p>"Is that. . ."<p>

"Probie," Tony rushed towards his partner when he saw him wandering around the park. "Tim? Are you alright?"

"Where are those people? They looked like all of us," he answered, his breath a bit shaky. "I thought you were coming to save me?" He placed a palm over his head where, he have just noticed, the red liquid caked. He twitched. "My head."

"He is confused, Gibbs," Ziva turned to the senior agent, worried for her teammate.

"Tim?" Gibbs placed a hand on the young man's shoulders. "Hey. Do you know where you are?"

"They looked like us, and then they tried to make me eat cookies. . ."

"DiNozzo, call an ambulance," Gibbs commanded. Immediately, Tony followed the order. Although the agent's current state alarmed him, he was relieved to finally see him. After days of searching for him.

"They were trying to make me eat cookies. . ."

"Don't worry about them anymore, Tim. You're safe here with us now," Gibbs said, reassuring him.

* * *

><p>"Hello? McGee speaking."<p>

_"Hi, sweetie! It's nice to finally hear you. You know, I miss you already. Where are you?"_

"Still here at Bethesda. The doctor said they needed to monitor me, but in all honesty I feel fine."

_"Surely the head trauma wasn't that bad. He didn't hit you that hard, did he?"_

"He did, but he didn't have a choice."

_"Mmm. Yeah. Well, how's work? When will you come to NCIS?"_

"In a day or two. I'm okay now. I can do the work."

_"If that's what you say, cupcake. Have fun!"_

"I will. Oh, um. . .How's he doing?"

_"He's still heavily sedated. Poor angel. But he looks cuter when he's asleep."_

"Well, I still have to rest."

_"Okay. Sleep well."_

"And Zara?"

_"Yes?"_

"Stay away from Tim, alright?"

Zara giggled. _"I will try my best, Tom. Bye."_

He smiled. "Bye," he said, and then placed the phone back to the receiver.

Tom laughed maniacally. At last! They have begun. All he needed was everyone's trust. Then, the world would be theirs. Theirs! And through that, he would watch his parents admit their wrongs. They would be sorry, but it would be too late. He would be with the people that would run everything, and Tim would be one of their many prisoners.

Who's the weakling now?

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><p><strong>Reviews are entertained! ^_^<strong>


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